


A Troll's Not-so-Natural Resources

by BoringMacaroni



Category: Original Work
Genre: A LOT of poop, Best Friends, Brotherly Love, Eproctophilia, Fantasy, Fart Fetish, Farting, Fetish, Flatulence, Gassy Guy, Male Bonding, Male Farting, Other, Scat, farting fetish, poop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoringMacaroni/pseuds/BoringMacaroni
Summary: What do you do when your best friend chronically has to take seismic dumps? Profit off him, of course!





	A Troll's Not-so-Natural Resources

"How much longer are you going to be?" Rodrik yelled, pounding a fist against the rickety door of the outhouse. "You know we have to get going before the sun sets!"

"Alright,  _alright_ ," came the jaded voice from inside. "Don't get it twisted, dude. I'm just... waiting."

"For what, the New Year to arrive? You've been in there for forty minutes!"

Gabriel's solitary retort was a blasting fart that trembled the walls of the shabby privy. The elf dragged a hand down his face and exhaled drowsily, knowing this meant he must continue to languish out in the cold, dark woods.

 _Trolls._ Or, in this case, half-trolls. Spirits above, why were they _so...?_

He shook his head with a sigh, disappointed in both the situation and the deep-seated prejudice that was stirring within him. He was so  _sure_  he was better than that. He had managed to escape that narrow mindset once he and Gabe had become vagabonds together. Since his childhood, he had been taught to revile and degrade trolls, and these lessons were reinforced during every shift with his Troop. But without the Troop to pummel it into him, he no longer conformed to the old-fashioned way of thinking. Rodrik believed himself to be greater for it.

But it was difficult, adjusting to this new mindset. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't Gabe's heritage that made him act this way, although his additional stomachs certainly contributed to his flatulence problem. It was just who he was as a person. And he was, at the end of the day, a _person._  A person whom Rodrik had come to grow quite fond of, and whose annoying bowel movements he resigned to put up with, all for the sake of their partnership. And maybe a little bit of  _friendship_ , too... though you'd never hear either of them say it aloud.

The elf wandered over to their recently extinguished campfire, now wishing that he had kept it going for a while longer. The evening was growing bitterer by the second and his travelling companion didn't seem to be ready to depart anytime soon. He shivered as he sat down on an old, hollowed out log, deciding he could double-check their equipment until he heard the outhouse door creak open.

But it never did.

Ten minutes passed and he was back to complaining.

"Even for you, this is ridiculous," Rodrik's scolding was loud enough for Gabriel to hear him from a few feet away. "There's no way you've been shitting for forty minutes straight," he argued, then wondered if such a thing was possible for a half-troll.

Rodrik rubbed his hands together as he approached the outhouse, a little afraid to hear the answer.

"... _right?_ "

"Right." Gabe sighed and mumbled something that the elf couldn't decipher.

"What?" Rodrik pressed his ear against the door. "What are you saying?"

"Just come in," Gabe snipped, hurriedly adding before the other could complain, "It's fine, dude, I haven't-"

"Nuh-uh. No way!" Rodrik was already backing away. "Thanks, but I'd prefer it if dinner exited through the  _other_  hole. I'll wait."

"Rod..."

Rodrik halted. He never addressed the elf this way, unless they were having one of their more...  _brotherly_  moments. It swayed Rodrik enough to take a deep breath—Gods knew he wouldn't be breathing any of the air in  _there_ —and open the door.

He reeled back from the stench of stale farts and blinked his eyes before they could water. Gabriel was staring at him bleakly.

"What's wrong?"

Gabriel sighed softly and shut his eyes. "I can't..."

"No," Rodrik's tone grew a little more sympathetic and a lot more surprised. "You can't  _still_  be constipated?"

"Apparently," the troll answered humourlessly, leaning to the side to let a sour fart rattle around the porcelain. "Although I don't think your cooking helped much."

"Leave my world famous pork fried rice out of this," Rodrik pointed an accusatory finger at the hybrid, then sighed.

"Well, what are you going to do? Sit there and break wind all night? You could be _walking_  and farting, and we could maybe get some miles behind us before it's too dark."

Gabriel's voice was small and aiming for indifference. "You said you could help me," he muttered, looking away. A slow grin lifted the corners of the elf's mouth.

"Ah. I see. Are you taking me up on my offer then?"

"Only," Gabe began, eyes darting back to stare down the elf, "because you never shut up about those stupid masseuse lessons."

He grunted and pushed out another fart, frowning discontentedly when no shit followed through with it.

"It's the stupidest thing I've  _ever_  heard. Why the hell would an elf troop need to know how to give massages?"

"We help those in need, don't we?"

"Yeah, like fighting off bad guys and taking care of wounded creatures! Not getting a knot out of someone's shoulder!"

Gabe's stomachs rumbled loudly and he pouted, arms hugging his sickly gut. Rodrik smirked complacently.

"...please help," the half-troll uttered shyly.

The elf laughed and secured the door behind them, taking a few steps closer to his aromatic partner-in- _sort of_  legal crime.

"Sit up. Keep your back straight," he instructed. "And don't suck in your stomach."

"I'm not," Gabe stated. His stomach was normally slim and defined, but it was currently bordering on pot-bellied. "I've got a family-sized portion of turds in here."

"Your eloquence is astounding," Rodrik rolled his eyes.

Rodrik was a couple of inches taller than Gabe, and he had to bend his knees slightly, so that their heads almost pressed together. The hybrid lifted his shirt, revealing his bloated belly. Rodrik examined his friend's plight then placed his hands against Gabe's stomach.

Gabe winced. "Jeez, Elsa. Sang on any mountaintops lately?"

"Sorry," the elf blew on his hands and rubbed them together vigorously to warm them up. "It's freezing out there."

"Well, it's nice and toasty in here," Gabe smirked, blasting out another greasy trumpet.

"Yes, I can see you've been warming it up for me."

Carefully, Rodrik latched hands onto each side of his lower abdomen. He removed his grip immediately. It felt like he was clutching at a brick wall.

"What is it?" Gabe asked concernedly, seeing Rodrik's stupefied expression. "Is it bad?"

"No, it's just... it's so hard. Gods, this must be painful for you," Rodrik murmured, brows furrowing worryingly. Had Gabriel been living all week like this? It must've been agonising. He regretted not cutting him some slack before.

Gabe shrugged. "I'm used to it. My stomachs are never happy."

"Okay," the elf continued, gently rubbing circles into Gabe's soft skin with his thumbs. "Now I don't want you to strain, okay? Just let me try and break some of this up first. I'd imagine you're feeling a little raw down there."

"Pretty sure I've given myself haemorrhoids," Gabe joked, but Rodrik could see that he was eager for him to start.

"It'll be alright. Everyone gets blocked up at some point. We'll get it out of you, I promise."

"Get on with it already," Gabe bit, but he was smiling weakly. Rodrik knew he appreciated being comforted. He just didn't want to admit to it.

The elf took a preparatory pause, then pressed firmly into Gabe's hardened middle with both of his palms. Gabriel sucked his teeth as the additional pressure caused him to fart violently, the racketing flatulence shaking the toilet as it rumbled out of his cheeks.

"Woops," he laughed.

Rodrik coughed as the foul wind drifted upward.

"Least we know it's working, huh?" he snorted. He wisely chose to bury his nose in Gabe's thick hair until it was over.

Rodrik continued to apply varying levels of pressure, switching between his palms and his thumbs and sometimes both, until he fell into a rhythm, kneading steadily into Gabriel's agitated guts.

"So did all the guys have to take massage classes?" The troll asked impishly. "Or only the ones who possess such lovely,  _delicate_  hands?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Gabriel let out a long release of brassy flatulence and began to chuckle.

"Sorry," he smiled mischievously.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," Rodrik replied with his usual dry wit. "It's fine. Walked into that one, really. You feeling anything yet?"

"Nn... not really. Kinda." Gabriel murmured, letting out a series of short, airy poots. "Can't you go any harder?"

Being the mentally pre-adolescent boys that they were, there was much laughter at this. Rodrik nodded and increased his force. Gabriel shifted awkwardly on his spot—his buttocks spilled slightly over onto the seat, and he wanted to make sure there was a large enough gap for whatever was readying to come through. Rodrik wondered why he even bothered. No toilet would ever be suitable for the sort of dumps trolls took.

The elf shivered. He did not look back on his custodial days fondly.

"So where are we headed, anyway?" Gabe asked, after nearly burping in the other male's face. "You got a plan?"

"Not really. Guess we can decide once the stars are out. They'll guide the way."

The troll's stomachs suddenly let off an intense gurgle, and Rodrik felt the gas bubbles rippling against his hands.

"Somewhere South, maybe," the elf thought out-loud. "Perhaps toward the sea?"

"Nice choice! I love fish," Gabe enthused, letting out a raunchy, wet ripper. Rodrik started to reply, but was interrupted by a duo of deep, sputtering farts.

"Yeah, well, seeing how your stomachs have reacted to most food so far, I wouldn't be shocked if the feeling wasn't mutual," he jested. Being a hybrid of both troll and elf, Gabriel's digestive chambers couldn't handle certain foods as well as most trolls could. His system was notoriously fickle. Rodrik had started to compile a list of foods to watch out for, but he ran out of space on his notepad after a week.

Rodrik dug his fingers deeply into the troll's skin, the pressure on his fingertips working skilfully to hit the most sensitive points of his gut; he had graduated with top marks in his class and was confident he'd get the right results. In response, Gabriel let out a trio of sharp, strong bursts of flatus. The last one sounded like a wet flag tearing in two and smelled like raw sewage.

"Ooft, that was ripe," Rodrik gagged as the miasma enveloped them.

Gabriel, on the other hand, had tensed.

"Uh... Rod?"

"Yes?"

"I think it's coming."

"Really? Okay, just wait, I'll let you know when to push," he advised quickly.

Gabriel's stomachs churned and bubbled as he felt a sensation of downward impelling in his gut. Pressure was starting to form at his anus.

"How do you know how to do this?" he asked curiously. "Like, when to have me push and stuff? Seems like it's pretty specific."

"I had an apprenticeship as a stablehand for a while," Rodrik explained, shoving strongly into Gabe's tummy until the troll was whining in pain. "Sorry. Taurs get constipated when they change diets, it's quite common."

The troll hissed as Rodrik's pushing became more commanding. His back arched as he felt his hole puckering, the head of a huge turd widening the small space. The hybrid's claws dug into the side of the toilet as he let out a bellowing groan from the bottom of his chest. Rodrik continued to push, even if his common sense was telling him to get very far away.

Gabriel's groan dropped to an even deeper note as he felt his bowels gradually easing. Gas slipped through the sides of the massive mound of shit, sputtering like a purring engine. He wiggled his hips a little. The turd crackled as it slowly emerged from his rectum.

"Fuck," he strained, face contorting in pain.

His stomachs gurgled thunderously.

"Alright-" Rodrik jumped back. "Push!"

Gabriel grunted and pushed, and with a great heave and a loud fart, the bulking turd dropped out of his ass and sent water splashing up the sides of the bowl. The troll released a mighty exhale and sat back, a hand on his victorious gut, toes curling in relief as he immediately erupted with a hoard of awaiting farts. They sounded like the roar of some ancient cave-dwelling creature as they bounced off the porcelain walls.

A sulphurous smog promptly filled the outhouse, and though the thick mist leaked out from the slit underneath the door, it wasn't enough to clear the air. Rodrik dry-heaved until the brunt of the stench had passed.

"Good job," he grinned, eyes watery but his tone sincere. "Although I'll bet you're not empty yet."

Gabriel passed gas nosily and scrunched his face in concentration. More turds slipped out, still slow but the flow was much steadier than before.

The troll revelled in his well-earned relief.

"Show it who's boss, bud," Rodrik encouraged, giving his pal's sandy blonde hair a tussle as he laughed. "I'll meet you outside."

Rodrik hastily exited the outhouse and actually  _enjoyed_  the freezing-cold wind that greeted him with a harsh slap to the face. This wind was certainly better than the ones being produced inside. The sheer magnitude of Gabriel's farts would never cease to amaze him, though he had long since gotten used to how flatulent he was.

He was shocked to hear the old door creak open not too long after he had gotten his kit hauled over one shoulder.

"Nothin' like cleansing the ole colon, huh?" Gabe beamed, fixing the belt on his shorts and kicking the door back behind him.

"You're finished already?" Rodrik frowned.

"Yup. Feeling much better," he said brightly. He clapped the elf affectionately on the shoulder. "Thanks for that."

"But you've been blocked up for a week."

Gabe shrugged, obviously surprised himself. "I mean, I  _feel_  fine. And we gotta get moving before sunset, don't we?"

"Yes, but I'd much prefer it if we didn't have to take a million rest-stops so you can relieve yourself."

The hybrid belched and shrugged again, suiting himself up with his half of the equipment. Rodrik shook his head.

"So long as you're sure, Gabe. But we've got a long walk ahead of us, and we  _really_  can't afford to buy you another pair of shorts..."

"Don't be such a wet blanket," Gabriel teased. "If you don't start walking now, I'll be upwind of you."

Rodrik raced ahead. Gabe didn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

Less than an hour later and the boys had already traversed several miles, crossing barren fields and delving into yet another lush jungle-like forest. Within that short space of time, Gabriel had went from his usual upbeat self, to hanging way back from the elf—either out of manners, so that the elf wouldn't have to bear the impact of his constant gaseous emissions, or because he was trying to disguise his desperate need to empty his bowels again.

Rodrik had his money on the latter.

"Half a mile left, then we can camp for the night," the elf narrated, flicking down the metal cover on his compass. Gabriel moaned from a few paces behind him, then the air was filled with what sounded like a greasy engine sputtering into life. Rodrik rolled eyes as he heard the hybrid let out another squishy fart.

"Gabriel, I know you need to crap. You're tormenting the avian population back there."

Gabriel let out a long, dry rift of stinking air and bit into his lip, clenching his behind.

"What're you talking about?" He laughed stiffly, pulling his shirt down to cover his musky buttocks. "I'm fine. I'm just gassy, that's all."

"You're  _always_  gassy," Rodrik swung around to smirk at the troll. "But right now you're clearly endeavouring to stop from soiling yourself...  _again._ "

"One time," Gabe prodded a finger at him. "And I was sick, I couldn't help it."

"What about when you ate those berries?"

"...two times."

"And after that chicken-eating contest?"

"Three... three times..." The troll muttered, lowering his head.

"And-"

"Okay,  _more_  than one time, I get it," Gabe snapped. "But I'm fine. Really."

"Why are you trolls so stubborn?" Rodrik asked playfully.

Gabriel's stomachs churned as he held his warbling middle. The troll leaned slightly to the side to push out an acrid fart. The stench soon spread out toward Rodrik, who shuddered in disgust.

"Gods, that's awful," he gagged, tightly pinching his nose.

"It's your rice that's doing this," Gabe groaned, fanning his behind as another unlucky bird collapsed from its perch. "It's not agreeing with me."

"Stop blaming it on my rice! I was trained by the  _finest_  chef in-"

"Spare me the spiel," Gabe drawled. Suddenly his stomachs bubbled urgently, and his face paled as he felt an uncomfortable amount of pressure soar toward his anus. He whined fearfully, crossing his legs.

"Okay, m-maybe I do have to go."

"How bad is it? Do I have to dig you a hole?"

"Hmm, I dunno," Gabe, though currently in agonising pain, still scratched at his chin and exhibited his usual sarcasm. "Let's ask all the meals I've eaten this past week,  _plus_  the snacks and your stupid granola bars..."

"I knew you ate those!" Rodrik cried animatedly. "I  _knew_  it wasn't a squirrel."

"Good job, Sherlock."

Gabriel let out an dangerously wet fart and grabbed his ass, feeling for any repercussions. Rodrik waited anxiously for the result. Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief.

"All clear. But that was close, man."

"Try and hold it for another minute," Rodrik said, opening his kit to retrieve his shovel.

Then an idea came to him.

"Wait..." He racked his memory. "No, I can do you one better!"

Gabriel, now releasing a surging flow of soft, warm gas from his behind, wilting  _all_  the flowers in the vicinity, watched as his friend tore into a cloth bag and took out an odd-looking potato sack. The half-troll's face fell in horror.

"Oh, not that thing again!" He wailed. Rodrik hushed him.

"We might not get to raid anywhere for sometime, and Gods know if we'll meet anybody to con," he explained, unravelling the sack as Gabriel continued to complain. He raised his voice. "We need the money, Gabe! And you just so happen to partially belong to a species renowned for their excrement's manure-like qualities. It's easy profits."

"I didn't need to hear the business plan!" Gabe spat, unbuckling his shorts. "I'm not going in that... thing. I'll just shit on the ground, nobody'll care."

"You  _are_ ," Rodrik was already tying the sack around his waist. The troll grabbed at his dark hair and tried to push him back, but Rodrik persisted. "Cut it out, idiot. Now hold still until I've got it secured."

"You don't have to worry,  _idiot_ ," Gabriel seethed, squirming to get away, "'cause I ain't pooping in-"

Gabe sharted messily, a quivering whimper betraying his stubbornness. Rodrik managed to jump back in time as greasy, bubbling flatulence pushed out a heap of liquid troll dung.

"Hurry up," Gabe begged as his stomachs rumbled and his knees shook.

"Classy as always," Rodrik snickered and patted Gabe's lower back. "She's ready for you, thunderbutt. Show her what you're made of!"

Gabriel shuddered in trepidation, huffing several times as his stomachs pushed a colossal amount of shit through his bowels. Suddenly he began to rapidly fart, brassy gas spilling out of his behind, soon followed by a train of soft, chunky turds.

The beginning was always the hardest part for him, but now the sludge-like shit poured out of him leisurely. The hybrid sighed and crossed his arms against his chest, gigantic bursts of air spewing out of his cheeks.

"I hate this," he complained, pushing out a thundering fart that would make anybody else quake in terror, but Gabe just looked bored.

"I know you do," Rodrik said from a comfortable distance. He had a well-stuffed backpack as a pillow, and was trying to get some work done on his latest crossword puzzle. He had a feeling Gabe would be a while.

"It feels like a giant diaper, Rod."

"It's not a giant diaper, it's a giant sack."

"Both of those are horrible," Gabe lifted a leg and farted loudly. His stomachs burbled, and he grunted as he helped thrust out another pile of wet poop.

"Well, it's not patented yet. I'll start worrying about names when someone else tries to use it on  _their_  troll," Rodrik said.

The hybrid farted and soiled the bag for several more minutes. He got through it the way he always did—sometimes he hummed some old tune to himself, sometimes he counted sheep in his head, but mostly he picked his nose.

His chambers abruptly gurgled as something bubbled wildly in his intestines. The troll yelped in pain, making Rodrik steal a glance at him. Gabriel had bent over with one hand on his knee, the other arm wrapped around his volcanic middle.

"Ooh,  _fuck_ ," he closed his eyes as a couple of wet farts exploded out of him, sounding the alarm call for what was to come. "I think this is your rice...!"

Rodrik gritted his teeth in anticipation, just as Gabe's ass let loose with a stream of roaring thunder. Noisy, abrasive flatulence echoed out across the woods, sending birds into the air and rabbits fleeing into their burrows. Rodrik placed a cloth over his mouth and nose. Gabe's face darkened as he cried out in pain, pressing into his gut and forcing out more of the vulgar gas. Rodrik had learned long ago that he wasn't actually dying, no matter how much it sounded like it. He had mastered most of his troll traits but the poor guy's body wasn't completely equipped to deal with the amount of gas and shit he produced. It could be an exhausting battle, as it was right now.

The trumpets ended on a squeaky serenade. An almost comically gentle fart fluttered out, and then came a barrel of shit. Gabriel moaned so deeply his entire body seemed to go flaccid with pleasure. Rodrik watched the sack filling up to its brim.

"We're going to make a killing," he said, eyes lighting up in glee. "Keep going!"

"I wasn't planning on stopping," Gabe called over his farting, but he was grinning too, happy to know that his trauma was for a good cause.

The last turd plopped out, landing on the massive assemblage of nuggety diarrhoea. Gabe cracked his back and smiled lazily. Bubbling gas splattered against his cheeks, which were smeared in his own faecal matter.

"Colon cleansed," he announced cheerfully.

"You all done?"

"Think so, dude."

"Your fanclub is back," Rodrik noted casually as he got to his feet. Gabe looked over his shoulder and sighed. If he had a tail, it would've swatted at the flies for him, but that feature had bypassed his mixed DNA. He waved briskly at his ass to scare them away.

"You good?" Rodrik asked, cautiously getting closer. "Can I take it off?"

Gabriel belched and patted his stomach, which had returned to its former slimness. "Outta shit. Still got gas, though."

"Someone alert the press," Rodrik gasped. "I'm floored!"

"You will be, once we get the tent set up tonight," Gabe smirked and flicked the elf in the ear. "Then you can smell just how wonderful your rice is."

Rodrik smirked back at him and tucked his crossword under his arm. He slipped a hand around Gabe's stomach to untie the knot at his crotch.

"Man, you must've shat out at least five pounds," he said, observing the over-filled bag behind the half-breed. They'd need to make sure it didn't spill over when they were transporting it, wherever they ended up. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Gabriel let out a huge puff of silent gas. "You tell me," he exhaled satisfyingly. 

Rodrik gagged as the cloud shrouded him and fanned the crossword near his face. "Honestly, you're such a  _child._ "

"Hey, what's this?" Gabe asked, pulling the puzzle out of the elf's grip. "You never told me you had this! I could've been doing it in the outhouse."

"Don't be silly," Rodrik chuckled, "you can't even spell your own name."

Gabe waited until Rodrik was close enough to fart directly in his face. He tutted, letting the elf dry-heave and clutch madly at his throat for five minutes—the usual pantomime act.

"You never learn, do ya? And you elves think you're so smart."

"You're half elf, idiot," Rodrik coughed, recovering quickly. Gods, he was glad he was on Gabe's side. He couldn't imagine being one of their enemies whenever Rod made the executive decision to let Gabe's flatulence do the fighting for them.

"We'll each take turns carrying the sack," he said, his voice still hoarse.

"No way, I'm not carrying my own shit!" Gabe protested.

"Don't worry, five pounds isn't that heavy. Even your noodle arms can handle it."

"I never meant it  _that_  way," Gabe muttered.

He made a gesture, one that Rodrik had learned meant 'crunch crunch'. You're on thin ice, it said. The elf laughed and walked over to their supplies, tripping over a loose cooking pot. Clumsiness was to be expected of someone who could only see out the one eye, but that didn't mean Gabe ever went easy on him. He was his best friend, after all.

"Useless runt," Gabe shook his head, sighing in exaggerated disappointment.

"Filthy mongrel," Rodrik returned, as was their routine, and threw a roll of T.P at Gabe's head. "Now shut up and wipe your arse."


End file.
